Bad News Bar
by Sagelah
Summary: Emily and Hotch are stuck in the bar when the UnSub spots them. COMPLETE


**Tiny oneshot. Sad one. Warning. Because everything I write is sad. Unless it involves a certain kitty...but I digress.**

"Kiss me," Emily hissed.

"What?" Hotch hissed back. He stood with his back to the wall looking out into the crowd of barflies and frat boys. The unsub was here, and was about to make a beeline for them. The two profilers knew it. The unsub knew it.

They'd been tracking the sonofabitch in Los Angeles for six days. He'd presented as a spree killer only to go into hiding, becoming more organized, taking a new hostage every ten hours. It was driving the team absolutely insane and the only link they had unveiled was the bar that Emily and Hotch were now occupying.

Emily was about ready to kill herself for turning her back on the room, she hadn't meant anything by it. She was supposed to be scanning the room with Hotch, she was on duty, but his tie was loose and it was driving her up a wall. She had only meant to tighten it when Hotch's body has tensed, and not from her proximity. His eyes held the gaze of the unsub.

If Nate Farler knew the cops were onto him, he could start shooting at random. He would take out civilians. Many would die. Emily could die. She wouldn't have enough time to think about turning around and grabbing her weapon. He would shoot her. Emily dead. Again.

"Hotch?" Emily pleaded, the look on Hotch's face scaring her. He steeled himself and leaned in and placed his lips against hers.

Her eyes fluttered shut before his did, warmth spreading throughout her entire body. How long had she pined for his kiss? _Too bad we're on duty and probably dead_, she thought to herself. She snaked the fingers of her right hand into her boss' belt loop, effectively pulling her crotch against his. Her other hand ran up the lapel of his suit jacket and finally coming to rest at the back of his neck.

Hotch's hands moved against his will, one hand cupping her cheek, deepening the kiss the other pulling her harder against him. He felt the familiar stirring and he prayed Emily didn't feel his ever growing arousal through his suit pants. When his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck she let out the softest whimper and he had to remind himself he was on duty. That, no, he couldn't take her against the wall.

Hotch opened his eyes for the briefest of moments, only to find the gaze of the unsub once more. Farler looked puzzled, but not convinced. Hotch let his hand travel towards Emily's ass, only to realize her gun was on display tucked into the back of her pants. "Your gun is showing," he whispered against her lips. She chuckled against his in turn, making it into something far dirtier.

"Then I'll just have to turn around," she replied without missing a beat. She pulled on his tie and spun them so she was now backed up against the wall. The gun dug into the small of her back with more force than she'd intended and she yelped. Hotch responded by kissing her with more fervor. He pushed her farther into the wall, his leg coming to rest between hers. She pushed down against the pressure, knowing what was happening, but it felt too good to care. She moaned against his mouth and pushed her tongue through his lips. He responded with his own, the two battling for dominance.

He seemed to relent his pressure on her only to push her back against the wall, the force causing her to stand on her tiptoes. She knotted her hands in his hair, raking her nails against his scalp and pulling on the short tufts. He responded with a guttural growl that Emily felt resonate in her groin.

It was her eyes that peeped this time and they flew open. The unsub was a few feet away, pistol hanging loosely at his side, a wicked grin plastered on his face. Emily pushed Hotch back, but he was too wrapped up in the kiss. Years of pent up sexual tension finally free. She pushed again, harder, but he just lowered his mouth to her neck.

The feeling of his lips at the hollow just below her ear, my god the _feeling_, but Emily tried again. He held tight to her. The unsub raised his gun, leveled it at Hotch's back. "Hotch!" she yelled, but he mistook it for pleasure and dug his fingers into her waist. The unsub winked and pulled the trigger. Hotch dropped to the ground. Emily whipped her gun out from behind her and shot Farler. He dropped with a loud thud. The bar was clearing out.

She dropped to her knees beside Hotch. Already a pool of blood was forming from the area of his lower back. "Oh god no, please no! Hang in there! Someone call 911!" she yelled frantically. Hotch reached a shaky hand up and let it rest on her cheek. He pulled her in for a kiss and she felt his hand drop to the ground. The tears were relentless. The medic too late. The kiss had been her damned idea. She cried. She swore. She would hurt anyone who came near them.

"NO!" Emily screamed. Her eyes flew open. She was in her hotel room. Her face was soaked with tears. Her clothes stuck to her sweaty body. "Hotch. Hotch Hotch Hotch," she mumbled and stumbled to the door. Her hair was a mess, her face was a mess, _she_ was a mess. _Hotch_.

The doorknob wasn't cooperating. It wasn't opening fast enough. She let out a frustrated cry, more tears spilling. "Come on!" she growled. It swung open and she bolted into the hallway. His door was the last one, of course it was. She brought her fist up against the wood. She hit it once, twice, three times. "Hotch!" she yelled, her cheek pressed against the door.

She banged again. No sound. No answer. "Hotch, p-please," she cried. No answer. No movement. She let her forehead hit the peephole. A sob wracked her body and she silently wailed. She wasn't prepared for the door to open. She wasn't ready and she fell face first into his room.

"Emily? Are you okay?" he asked as he knelt down to help her up. When he saw her face his heart nearly stopped. Her eyes were red and swollen, tear stained cheeks and her lips quivered.

"Hotch," she whispered. She sat back on her heels and reached a tentative hand out, ghosted it across his cheek. He swallowed nervously.

"Are you okay?" he begged her. She wasn't talking though, she was just stroking his cheek.

"You're alive," she murmured. He nodded. She smiled, more tears, happy tears, spilling over. She didn't think, she simply threw herself into his arms. His wrapped around her narrow frame instinctively.

"Don't e-ever die. Okay?" she managed to get out. Hotch sat back and pulled Emily into his lap properly.

"I promise," he said into her hair. He rocked her. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her nose, her lips. He rocked her. He kissed her. He rocked her and played with her hair. She burrowed deeper against his neck. Neither was thinking, only feeling. Her breathing began to even out and he lifted her up, bridal style, and placed her in bed. He turned off the lamp and crawled in on the other side.

He pulled her towards him, her small body wrapped up in his. She opened her eyes momentarily. "Hey," he whispered, his nose pressed against hers.

"Hey," she replied.

"Don't ever do that to me again," he pleaded, his eyes closing.

"Do what?" she wondered aloud.

"Insist we sleep apart. I don't give a rats ass if it's tradition. This bride and groom _always_ sleep together."


End file.
